Garbage man
by lowri
Summary: Tessa's old school friend has found a unique side-line in Seacouver. What happens when Joe and MacLeod find out about it?


VIOLENCE: This particular story is darker than my norm and I

VIOLENCE: This particular story is darker than my norm and I apologize if you are offended by it. I would rate this a PG-13, for implied violence, but I have not described in detail any of the nastier stuff that is part of the story.

Disclaimer: The Highlander universe belongs to Panzer/Davis and Rysher Entertainment. I am borrowing their characters without permission, and have not received any monetary profit from their use. As usual, the characters of Duncan MacLeod, Tessa Noel, Richie Ryan, Joe Dawson, Amanda, Methos, and Alexa belong to THEM. Samantha and John Henley, Andrew Whitney, and Larry Dunn belong to me. Many thanks to Lisa Hughes who has struggled through six months of rewrites and last minute additions. She has kept her patience with my unending whining about my ever finishing the story to my satisfaction. Hope you enjoy it. Comments etc., can be sent to lwright3@rochester.rr.com

****

Garbage Man

By Lori Wright

Chapter 1

Detective Samantha Henley slid into the bar. She was wearing men's clothes, which successfully hid her femininity. She was very good at blending into her surroundings, no matter what disguise she wore. She sat herself at a table off to the side, where she was hidden from the majority of the bar's occupants. A group of men were already playing on stage and the place was full.

She came here quite often when the rigors of her job took their toll. During the day, she was an officer of the Seacouver City Police Force. Her evenings were spent patrolling the inner city streets looking for kids who were on the run. She had a personal interest in these children who's parents abused them, or those that just couldn't make it in foster homes. She did her best to help, but often it wasn't enough. Those were the times, when she was so burned out, that she needed to come to Joe's and hear him play. Her soul needed the beauty of his music, the connection to the man himself, even if *he* didn't know. She knew it was dangerous, but the truth was, she was obsessed with him. He didn't play very often, and she tried to be present in case he did. In her miserable life, it was the only thing that cleansed her mind and spirit.

She sat in her corner, nursing a drink, hoping that Dawson would play. Yet, she dreaded the time when MacLeod would show up, knowing that his arrival was inevitable. For the first time, earlier that night, she had made contact with him. It went against every grain of logic and every notion of self- preservation, but she did what she had to do, for Tessa. She had followed MacLeod's life for so long now that it almost seemed like he was her responsibility. She had to make sure he survived, for Tessa. She had come across tonight's fight, quite by accident.

MacLeod and another man were doing their sword thing in the middle of the park. Nobody was around. She did a quick perimeter check, hoping that maybe she's get a glimpse of Dawson doing his job. No such luck. She didn't even find the other guy's Watcher. So she hung out in the shadows. The other guy looked Italian or Spanish. He had a sword, but also fought with an additional knife, or dagger. His eyes were black and yet brilliant in their hate. MacLeod was able to avoid most of the dagger's thrusts, but was unable to inflict any cuts of his own. Then he faltered. MacLeod started weaving. This was confusing since he hadn't received any life threatening gashes. Then it hit her. The knife must have been poisoned. MacLeod was having problems standing. The other immortal started laughing. Then Samantha did something, she swore she'd never do, she interfered in the fight.

"Hold it right there, Seacouver police!" She whipped out her gun and aimed it at the other guy. He made a threatening move towards her, so she fired twice. One hit his shoulder, and he dropped his knife. The other was in his gut, and he doubled over in pain.

"Drop your weapons, or I'll shoot again!"

MacLeod dropped his sword, and his body fell as well. She had to make sure that this guy did not take his head while he was dead. The stranger's sword started an upward swing and she fired a third shot, into his lung, and he died instantly.

She went over to them, took possession of all three blades and deposited them in her trunk. Then she returned to the shadows and waited for them to revive. She hoped that MacLeod would awaken first, then she would be able to leave. However if the stranger did, then she'd have to put another bullet in him. Luck was with her and MacLeod did recover first. He searched for his sword, becoming frantic when he couldn't find it. Giving up, he got into his car and drove away. She followed behind him until he got to the dojo, then she drove on. She stopped off at her house depositing the stranger's weapons in her closet with the rest of the swords she had collected through out the years. Then she changed her clothes shedding one disguise for another.

Next she drove over towards Dawson's little bar. She wrapped MacLeod's katana in a burlap bag. As she sat debating how to return the sword to the Watcher, a couple of kids cut through the parking lot. Swinging her head out the window, she yelled over to them.

"Hey Mick, would you do me a favor?"

The kids came over to her car.

"Hello Officer Henley," they said together with a hint of mockery.

"Here's a twenty dollar bill. Would you go into that bar and asked to speak to the owner? When Joe Dawson comes out, give him this, then leave immediately. Don't give him time to look at it or question you."

The kids agreed, as she knew they would. Each one of them had been in trouble, which she had bailed them out of. They owed her and all three knew it. When the boys came out, they gave her the thumbs up sign then melted into the darkness.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Samantha concentrated on the music once more. She felt good about what she had accomplished. She had stopped the stranger from killing *him*, and hopefully he wouldn't remember her because of his drug-induced state.

Then MacLeod waltzed in. He had cleaned himself up and he was apparently mad. He had words with Joe at the bar and then the two retired to a back room. MacLeod came out and departed. He didn't look any happier now that he had his sword in his possession. Dawson went back behind the bar, and chatted with the patrons sitting there.

A waitress brought her another drink and Samantha sat back and waited. Her eyes darted from one table to the next trying to see if anyone recognized her. A band member calling for Dawson to come up on stage interrupted her surveillance. This was her lucky night. Reaching inside her purse, she activated the tape recorder. She sat back and closed her eyes. She felt the notes run through her body, as she resonated with the melody. Her body swayed slightly back and forth, and she became totally lost within the music. Dawson played for over thirty minutes. Her world emptied when he finished playing the last song and set his guitar down.

He stepped off the stage and hobbled back towards the bar. She observed his journey, but he never noticed her stare. It just wasn't fair. Why was it that she only felt at peace, when she was listening to this man's music? What was so special about him, that he was able to drag her to his bar, to listen to him, when she knew that he of all people was off limits to her? She shook her head in despair, why MacLeod's Watcher of all people, she repeated to herself.

Detective Henley stood up and gathered her belongings and quietly exited the bar. She didn't elicit any strange looks, because no one really saw her. She always went straight home right after Dawson finished playing. He rarely played twice. When she got into her car, she removed the hidden tape reorder from her purse and withdrew its tape and put it into her car's stereo. The volume was set very high. She always taped his playing, so she could listen and relive it over and over. Every tape was a piece of Dawson that was hers, and she could experience it repeatedly. It was a sick existence and she knew it, but she had no choice. She had to remain anonymous in order to do her job. In addition to searching for runaways, she also took care of all the decapitated immortal bodies before any of the police officers could find them. To protect MacLeod for Tessa.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

The next day, she went to work as usual. Her partner had arrived before her. He was a veteran cop, who had been on the force almost ten years longer than her own fifteen years. She was a rude, violent, take no shit, kind of woman. He now respected her, and valued her expertise when it came to the hardened criminals. The first few weeks of their partnership had been kind of rough, but through patience and understanding, on his side, they had become friends, of sorts. The other men didn't like her. She never joined them in office jocularity. When they all had a drink after their shifts, she never joined them.

She shunned parties, and never made small talk. In fact she hated familiarity with people, especially with her co-workers. She wasn't a likable person and she not only knew it, but also fostered the impression.

This was in direct opposition to her work with the kids of the city. She was firm, but they all knew that she was on their side. Her personality had been conditioned at an early age. There had always been something to hide. Her father had abused her when she was young. Her mother had died and he was all she had. When she was twelve, she ran away. He didn't care; his life revolved around a bottle. After being on her own for two long weeks, a seventeen year old boy took her in under his wing. John Henley taught her how to survive in the world. She learned the fine art of pick pocketing. He taught her how to play the innocent while he did the stealing. She became his sidekick. He adopted her but forced her to continue school, and that was probably the only unselfish thing he had done for her. He became her guardian, gave her his name, and then called himself her brother. It wasn't until later that he changed the rules and became her lover.

When she was sixteen her father died of liver failure. That was when she told John that she wouldn't steal for him anymore. It was also the first time he 'disciplined' her. He was slowly becoming just like her father, but he didn't need alcohol to inspire him. She stuck to her guns, and John started spending less time home and more time with his business associates. Samantha was never sure of what he did for a living, but she was positive that it wasn't legal. After she graduated from high school they moved to Paris. John's business had transferred him there. Samantha didn't question her good fortune, it was enough that they were leaving.

John's income increased with this move and he gave her permission to enroll in a photography school. She had always had a knack for taking pictures. John had a penchant for giving her something very special, but making her suffer for the privilege. It was at the Sorbonne, that she met Tessa. They were both students. Tessa's specialty was sculpture, but they still had many classes together. It was as a result of this friendship that enabled John to meet Tessa, and decide that he had to have her.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Samantha's attention was brought back to the present when her partner came up to her desk and threw some folders on it.

"You've got a new one."

She picked up the top one and opened it. Inside was the picture of a girl, around fourteen, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. She had red hair and freckles, the epitome of the girl next door.

"She's been missing for a week. Last known location, Jonesville Oregon. Someone reported seeing her here in Seacouver. Ready to go?"

She scooped up the other papers and followed him out. She had to do everything in her power to make sure this girl did not end up with a man like John. This was her aim with every runaway or lost child; to make sure they didn't end up like her.

Her partner, Andrew Whitney, drove while she caught up reading the files. Drew was heading towards the docks. The report mentioned that someone of the girl's description had been seen leaving there, two days ago. When they arrived, Drew did all the talking while she took down notes and made observations. Her eye could catch almost anything that was out of the ordinary. Only one man remembered seeing the missing girl. She had left with a boy who had worked there, but had been fired yesterday. He thought the boy lived in the Zone.

They got back into the car and headed that way. Samantha had done her own time in the Zone and knew some of the people who still hung out there. They said that there was nothing that happened in Seacouver that she didn't know about. She had to agree.

They returned to the office at four, tired and frustrated. Not one lead had checked out. Drew went home to his wife and kid, while Samantha did the paper work. She didn't mind; there was no one waiting at home for her.

****

Chapter 2

Duncan MacLeod went back to Joe's the next day. He had been very upset about the incident in the park and hadn't fully comprehended the ramifications of Joe saying that the police officer was not one of his. With a night to dwell on it, his anger had evaporated, and now he started to question who the woman was. He couldn't remember any details, only her voice. It was authoritarian, and held conviction. He had this uncanny feeling that she not only knew who he was, but also what he was. She had taken his sword and had returned it to Joe's. Yet, she was not a Watcher.

"Joe, we need to talk."

"I was wondering when you'd show up. You want any lunch?"

"Sure."

Over some of the best clam chowder, they discussed what had happened the night before.

"I think she was there during the entire battle," was Joe's comment. "She only interfered when you were about to lose. Don't you find that an interesting fact?"

"So she likes me. That doesn't change the fact that she's doing things behind my back."

"Like a real Watcher."

"But she interfered."

"That's right, she saved your head."

"I want to know who she is."

"Do you think she's a real cop, or did she just say that last night to get your attention?"

"I think she's real. She had the moves and the voice down pat. Even I could tell that, despite my state of mind."

Joe snickered, and MacLeod glared at him, not seeing any humor in it.

"Okay Mac, I'll check into it.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Joe called his contact in the police force. Larry Dunn was a Watcher who's assignment consisted of concealing the actions of immortals from the rest of the department. He also kept Joe informed of any on going investigations.

"Hey Larry? Joe here. Got a question for you."

"Hello Joe. Shoot."

"Mac came across a cop last night who saw a battle, interfered and ended up saving his head. You know anyone who might know what's going on?"

"Not really. I've had this job for a few years. Before I came on the force, Detectives Henley and Whitney took care of serial killings. They seemed willing to give it up to me. They deal mostly with runaways now. Henley asks me periodically if I've come across the headless horseman, but she says it mostly in jest. And for her to make a joke is a major coup for me."

"What do you mean?"

"She's not a friendly person, but she is a good cop. She doesn't have a personality, and doesn't encourage conversations. Her partner gets along with her well enough, but, I don't know, it's hard to describe. The kids think she's a real hard ass, but someone to have

on their side."

"What about anyone else? Could some other cop be the one that MacLeod saw?"

"She's the most likely one, but I'm not saying she does know anything. It's just a guess. She is very protective over this city. If she thought there were immortals running around, she'd probably go out of her way to stop them."

"Interesting. Keep your ears and eyes open. Someone out there, *does* know and I want to find out who they are."

"Sure thing Joe. You want me to follow her on her nightly jaunts?"

"Yea, that may be a good idea. It's at least a place to start."

Joe Dawson hung up the phone. Larry didn't give him much to work on. He would probably need to check up on these two detectives. But one piece of information stuck in his mind. Henley worked with runaways and kids on the street. He bet that Richie would know her. That would be a place for him to start. He returned to his work, putting the mystery out of his mind for the moment.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

The next morning Detective's Henley and Whitney had just visited an apartment just north of Joe's when a call came over the radio. Whitney told dispatch they would take the call. Henley squirmed in her seat. The address they had been given was Joe Dawson's bar. Misreading the reason for her agitation he told her that it was probably one of her kids that was responsible for the theft. She'd have the best chance of finding the culprit. He continuously teased her about her feelings of responsibility towards the youth of the area. He was the only one able to get away with this.

He pulled into the parking area and got out of the car. "You coming Sam?" he asked, as she made no move to get out of the car.

Reluctantly she opened her door and followed him in. She took a deep breath and schooled her face into passivity. Her heart was going a mile a minute and her hands were sweating, but her face revealed nothing of her emotions. She just hoped that she wouldn't have to talk. She glanced around the parking lot. MacLeod's thunderbird was no where in sight. That was a relief.

Whitney opened the door and walked in. She followed behind. She removed her steno and pen to take notes. They walked up to the bar.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Joe was just coming out of the back room when he saw two people come into the bar.

"Sorry folks, we're closed."

"I'm Detective Whitney. This is Detective Henley. We're here about the robbery."

Joe was stunned. What luck. It was almost worth getting robbed for. He looked at the man. He was definitely in charge. He then looked at the woman. She was looking at the pad of paper in her hand and did not look up at him. So this was Henley. Then she glanced up. His breath caught in his throat. His lungs started to burn in an effort to draw breath. Control, he whispered to himself. His legs got a bit wobbly, he needed to sit down now. Jesus Christ, what was he going to do now? He hadn't felt such an instantaneous attraction in, well, never. Not even with Lauren.

"Please," his voice cracked. "Let's sit down. My legs aren't what they're supposed to be." 'Great move', he said to himself. 'Call to her attention that you're a cripple.'

Neither gave an outward sign that his revelation meant anything to them, but they followed him to a table.

"Tell me what you know," instructed Whitney.

"I came in this morning and the bar was a mess. Six cases of whiskey were missing. The cash was gone from the register, but there was only fifty bucks in it. Several of the tables were overturned and some of the chairs were broken."

"Do you have any idea who could have done this?"

"No. I can't begin to guess."

Henley didn't talk, she just wrote everything down that he said. Whitney directed all the questions. Joe looked over at her pad. Her hands were shaking. The pen had a slight trembling motion to it. She looked up quickly, noticing his interest and the shaking grew worse. Their eyes met, and she looked away just as fast. Did she feel the same attraction? Or was she nervous because of Mac and the battle last night?

Joe continued talking, but Henley got up and started looking around. This did not cause Whitney to change the flow of his questioning, so Joe figured that this was standard practice. She took fingerprints; she looked under tables and along walls. Joe kept his eye on her, but still answered the other officer's questions. Then she came back and spoke. It was hard for him to follow what she was saying, her voice was doing such strange things to his insides.

"I need prints from you and your co-workers."

"Sure."

She took out the inkpad and her notepad. There was a slight hesitation, then she picked up his right hand and pressed his fingers and thumb onto the pad and brought it over to the paper making a print for all of them. She repeated it for his left. Not once did she look at him. When she had finished, she scribbled Dawson, at the bottom.

"I need the rest of your employees. When will they be in?" Her voice sounded gravelly.

"Mike comes in around noon. Most of the others should be in then. Why don't you two come back for lunch, on the house. You can take the rest of the prints then."

Whitney liked that idea. Henley just nodded. They stood up from the table and left. The encounter left butterflies in Joe's stomach. He couldn't wait to tell Mac.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

The two returned to the bar a little past one. Joe had a table waiting for them. He decided to join them for lunch, actually he couldn't keep himself away. He wanted to be near her. He told himself it was only to observe, but he knew deep down that it wasn't the only reason.

"So did you find anything?" Joe asked.

Whitney replied, "There are a few prints that she found that weren't yours. One of them might be our culprit."

Joe tried to get her into the conversation. "Where did you find the prints?"

She looked in his direction, but not into his eyes. "Two sets were on the register, one was on the counter and the rest were around the storeroom door."

"Oh. Here's Alexa with our lunches."

Joe watched as she picked at her food. Her partner, on the other hand, ate with gusto. He asked questions about the bar, and about how long Joe had lived in Seacouver.

"Excuse me," Henley said and got up to go to the ladies room.

Whitney turned to Joe. "Don't worry, it's not you. Sam doesn't like people very much. She has a tendency to be gruff and antisocial. Don't take it personally."

"I won't. Doesn't she have any friends?"

"I don't think so. She spends all her free time on the streets. Nothing goes down that she doesn't know about. I think she knows who robbed you, but she's not talking yet."

Henley came out and retrieved her bag. She withdrew the finger printing paraphernalia and headed towards the bar. The waitress Alexa was there, along with the bartender Mike. She took their prints and stuffed them in her bag. Then she went in and took the cook's prints. She came out and sat back down.

"What do you think?" she asked her partner. "Ready to hit the road?"

"Sure." He took the hint and they said their good-byes to Joe. Just as the three of them were near the door, it opened and Richie walked in. The boy looked at Samantha. "Henley," he said with a nod.

"Well, hello Ryan. Didn't know you hung out here. Maybe I should be taking your prints too."

He threw up his hands. "Hey I'm clean. I'd never do anything to hurt Joe."

She gave him a smile, which showed more genuine emotion than Joe had seen yet. This was turning into a very informative morning.

"Well, keep it that way." She paused, but then added, "Haven't seen you in awhile, hope you're doing okay." A thread of worry unknowingly crept into her voice.

"I'm cool. Got myself a job and an apartment."

"That's great. I'm glad things are working out for you. Goodbye." The two detectives left.

Richie and Joe went back into the club.

"So Rich, tell me about her."

"She is the baddest, the meanest, the, I don't know. She's great. She saved my life more times than I can count. When I was about thirteen, some kids were wailing on me and she broke it up, and took me in. She helped to find me a better place to stay. She gave me money from her own pocket for food once. But ya see, she's got this tough exterior that she shows to the world. It hides how much compassion she feels. But don't cross her. Then she's hell on wheels."

"She ever meet Mac?"

"I don't think so. I knew her when I was just a kid. I don't think I've seen her since I hooked up with Mac. What's for lunch? I'm starving."

'So she's a softy,' Joe thought. He smiled to himself.

Joe brought a beer over and sat down with Richie.

"Tell me what you remember about her."

"She cases the city for kids on the lam. She tries to get them back with parents, or into better foster homes. She's very strict, but I remember her going head to head with this guy who had abused his daughter. She was formidable. Some of the other cops had to

hold her off."

This was sounding better and better.

****

Chapter 3

That night Samantha decided not to go to the bar. She was afraid that her disguise wouldn't fool Dawson anymore. He seemed to be interested in her. Did he suspect her involvement with MacLeod? Or did he feel the attraction too? Both possibilities were pretty scary. Running into Ryan had not been lucky. She couldn't remember if he was aware of her relationship with Tessa. She had been so careful not to let Mac see her, but she didn't remember being that careful around Ryan.

She dressed in her midnight clothes and set out. She came back five hours later, exhausted. She showered away the dirt and grime of that night's activities, while the tears fell from her eyes. She hated cleaning up after immortals. So many needless deaths and it was all because of a stupid game.

She went to bed and put one of her Dawson tapes in. She lay in bed, with her earphones in, with the music blasting in her ears. Tears periodically fell from her eyes. Death and Tessa were so intertwined in her mind, it was hard to tell the feelings apart. One particular song reminded her so much of Tessa. Did Dawson write it about her?

Her mind lost its focus and she drifted back to their school days in Paris.

****

1978

Samantha had just gotten out of class. She walked down the hall reading from one of her art history books. She had a test the next day, and she was cramming as fast as she could. She hated history. Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Reluctantly she looked up and a smile broke out on her face.

"Tessa! I didn't know you were in this building today."

With her soft French accent she responded, "I came looking for you. I need a big favor."

"What now?" she asked in mock disdain.

"I've got this assignment for graphic design. I need to put together a tourist pamphlet for the city of Paris. Will you please help me?"

"Help you? How?"

"I want you to do the photographs. I have never met anyone who is as talented as you behind the lens. Please, pretty please?" she said echoing her friend's slang.

"I can't start until after tomorrow morning. I've got a bitch of a test, and I won't have the time."

"Let me help. I've already taken that stupid art history class. I'll quiz you."

So the girls met at Tessa's house that night. Her parents were there, but were careful to stay out of their way during their studying times. John was never that considerate. If Tessa was in the flat, he was forever under foot.

Tessa liked John, but then she liked everyone. John never let her see his violent side. He was always the gentleman around Samantha's few friends. Samantha swore that as soon as she graduated with her degree, she would move as far away as possible from John and hopefully never see him again. She both hated and feared him. He controlled almost her every move. Tessa only saw his brotherly worry.

The next day, the two girls were 'doing the tourist thing'. Tessa was dressed in the most professional suit that she owned. Samantha had her camera and twenty rolls of film. The plan was to go to all the sites of interest, and she would photograph them. Some would have Tessa in them; others would feature the authentic travelers. They had a lot of fun.

Most of the fellow tourists were happy to pose for the pretty students. Their infectious smiles won everyone over. Several men tried to pick them up, but Tessa handled them all with ease. Samantha did not have a lot of experience with men; John was always extremely jealous if any other male paid her any attention. His reprimands usually resulted in a beating, so she learned at a young age to avoid all males.

They spent the entire day going all over Paris and capturing the highlights. Tessa took the film to be developed. They would pour over the pictures that next weekend. Samantha went home. Her steps got slower and slower the closer she came to her building. She dreaded going in the door.

John was sitting at the kitchen table.

"You're late Sam. I thought school was out at four?"

"I had to help Tessa with something. I didn't think you'd mind."

He got off the chair and walked towards her. He lifted his arm, and backhanded her, knocking her onto the floor. She did not get up. She did not cry.

"Next time call me and let me know when you are going to be late. I'm going out." He left the flat.

Then tears of humiliation and pain started to flow. She picked herself off the floor and went to make dinner. She put a bag of ice on her cheek, hoping to keep the swelling down and praying that it wouldn't bruise.

****

1995

The tape finished and Samantha flipped it. The worse beating he had ever given her was the day that Tessa informed them that she had fallen in love with the dark-haired Scot. He became pathological in his hatred of Duncan MacLeod, who had stolen Tessa away from them. He considered Tessa's love of Duncan MacLeod a betrayal to both himself and to Sam. For that reason he wouldn't allow Samantha to have anything more to do with Tessa. In a way it was this hatred that enabled her to escape from him. John had kicked her out of Paris, made her skip her last year of school, all because he didn't want her to have access to Tessa. Given the choice of her presence and knowing that the two girls would meet in secret, was enough incentive to boot her out of the country.

She decided to return to Seacouver, the only other home she had known. She joined the city police department, which was a source of amusement to John. As long as she never had contact with Tessa or MacLeod, she could do what she wanted. If she disobeyed him, well then, he would probably kill her. She shuddered with the thought of John ever finding out that Mac lived here too. She fell asleep thinking about Tessa, but hearing the whining twang of Joe's guitar.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

A sudden pounding at six the next morning woke Joe up. He quickly put on his artificial legs, grabbed a robe and his cane and hobbled to the front door. Larry was standing there, still dressed in yesterday's clothes, but were now wrinkled and dusty. His eyes were wild. He pushed his way passed Joe and into the living room. There he paced back and forth in a very agitated manner.

"Larry, I was sound asleep, sorry it took me so long to get the door."

"No problem. I have so much to tell you. I don't know where to start."

"I take it you followed Samantha tonight?"

"I sure did, and you'll never believe what I saw."

"Did she see you?"

"Not that I was aware of. McKenna's Watcher was there, but after Mac took the head, he left."

Joe felt the incredible panic come and go as Larry mentioned MacLeod and a battle. Mac had survived, that was the important thing.

"Why don't I get some coffee, then you can start at the beginning and tell me everything."

"Sure."

The two men went into the kitchen, but Larry could not stay settled. First he sat, and then he got up and started pacing again. Finally the coffee was done and Joe poured them each a cup. He sat down and waited for Larry to begin.

"I was waiting by her house and I followed her to a public garage. Here she left her Honda and got into another car. This one was a huge Olds, a Delta 88 or something like that. From there, she went into the city. She was dressed in weird clothes; I never would have recognized her. She was under pretty deep cover. I thought at first she was after her runaways, but somehow tonight was different. She went immediately to the waterfront and parked behind a warehouse." Larry took a sip of his coffee; his hands were still shaking.

"She got out of her car and crept towards one of the windows. Then she came back and got back into her car. I left my car and crept close to the warehouse to peek in also. That's when I saw MacLeod and another man talking. Then both men backed up and drew their swords and started to fight. I saw the other Watcher, and recognized Tyler Hendershot."

"So the immortal was McKenna." Joe nodded his head. "Him and Mac have a history."

"I then returned to my car. Samantha was still in hers. I don't think she saw me, but she wasn't really paying attention. She seemed to be writing or reading something. I got into my car and also waited. It was about ten minutes later that the Quickening started. She still didn't get out, but sat up and was alert.

"Mac came out and went right to his car and drove away. I was almost ready to start my car, when I noticed that she was getting out of hers. Very quietly she slipped up to the warehouse and looked in. Tyler had already departed, so I didn't know what she was looking for. Then she went into the building and roamed around a bit. Then she came back for her car. But instead of leaving, she drove the whole car into the warehouse.

"This is where it gets weird. She backed her car right up to the headless body. She got out of the car, opened the trunk, and pulled out a body bag. Attached to the bag, were rings with ropes threaded through. The ropes were then attached to a pulley system inside the trunk. She took the body bag, opened it and then put the body and head inside. She carefully picked up the sword and put it into the trunk. She then zippered up the bag and using the pulley picked the bag up and put it into her trunk. Then she took out mops and cleaning solutions and cleaned the floor up of all the blood and what ever else was there. When she was done, she put everything away and drove out of the building.

"I ran back to my car and drove after her. She got onto the highway and went north. We must have driven for an hour before she pulled off. She took a few turns and eventually we ended up on a back road, which led up into the mountains. We took several more turns and by this time I was completely lost. Then she turned onto this dirt path. I drove up ahead and pulled off of the road. I then tried to follow on foot. The dirt road was more of a path. I jogged up the dirt road but didn't have to go very far. I saw her already stopped and out of her car. She had the trunk open and she had a shovel in her hand. She walked over to this pile of dirt and started digging. The dirt was loose, so she must have dug the thing previous to last night's excursion. She took McKenna out of her trunk and threw him in the hole. She took the sword out and buried it with him. Then she covered the hole back up. Every move she made was well rehearsed, like she had done this a hundred times. It was eerie. She put the shovel back into the trunk and got back into the car. I ran full tilt to my car and was ready by the time she reached the road again. I came directly here."

Larry took a breath and gazed into Joe's eyes. They reflected the awe that he felt.

Joe broke the silence. "I wonder how long she has been doing this?"

"Every move was so deliberate. There was no hesitation, she sat in her car until the quickening was over and she knew that MacLeod had left. Not once did she show any interest in the sword fight. She may have been bored and brought a book to pass the time until one died. She must have been doing this for a very long time. I mean, a pulley system in the trunk of a car that isn't used, but actually hidden. A pre-dug grave, that just waits for a body. It must have been premeditated. All she needed was knowledge of a pending fight."

"So the question is why. Why does she, as a cop, cover up Mac's murders? As an officer of the law she could only view the battles as murders. Unless of course, she knows all about immortals and the Game. Does she do this for only Mac, or for all immortals?" Joe tried to reason it through.

The two Watchers looked at each other. Neither could answer the many questions. Larry finished his coffee and went home to sleep. Joe sat in his chair trying to figure out what was going through Samantha Henley's mind. It must have been her who had interfered in Mac's fight the night before and ended up saving his life. But why?

****

Chapter 4

Duncan MacLeod was sitting on his couch reading a letter that Amanda had written. It was so infrequent that she wrote that, this letter became all the more precious. He straightened up as the buzz of another immortal hit him. The elevator started its ascent. It must be Richie.

The blond immortal got out.

"Hey Mac, you still have Tessa's box of pictures?"

"No, I sent them to her parents. Why?"

"I need to look for something. Do you have any of them? Maybe a few that you kept for yourself?"

"Yes, I guess so."

"Can I see them?"

So Duncan retrieved the small cedar chest that contained his favorite snapshots. He took this box with him, no matter which place he lived. Richie opened it and looked carefully at each one. It was obvious that he was searching for something in particular.

He put the last picture back. "Thanks Mac."

"Did you find what you're looking for?"

"No. Want to work out?"

"Sure." It was late and the dojo was closed. The two immortals went downstairs to spar.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

The next day Samantha checked into work, grabbed her partner and took off for the streets. Hal had checked the fingerprints during the night and had come up with a name. Bobby McNamara. He had a record that ranged from auto theft to liquor stores robberies. His prints were all over the stock room door.

They burst into his apartment and found two unopened cases of whiskey and four unconscious male bodies. Finding a pulse in all of them, an ambulance was called. Henley searched the apartment, but didn't find a trace of a gun or the other cases of booze. One of the passed out men was McNamara. Case solved.

"Wish all of them could be this easy," commented Henley.

"Yea. Let's stop at Joe's and tell him the good news."

"Why don't you drop me off at the station first, then I can get started on the paper work. I still have kids to find. We'll meet after lunch and hit the streets again."

He agreed and dropped her off as she requested. It wasn't unusual for her to prefer the paper work than people contact.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

"Hey Dawson!" Whitney yelled.

Joe looked over to the door and saw one of the officers. Damn, Henley wasn't with him.

"Hello Detective. More questions?"

"Nope, just dropped by to say we caught the men responsible."

"Already?"

"Seacouver's finest never stops, until the criminals are all caught." He laughed. "But I can't take the credit. Henley studied the prints until she found McNamara's. We busted them this morning. Your thieves were all punks that she's dealt with for years. The ones she couldn't rehabilitate. She takes each failure so personally."

"Why? If they're scum bags, nothing is going to change them."

"Because she does have successes. Look at your friend Ryan. That kid was in more trouble than you can imagine. But she always said that he was a good kid at heart. He just needed the right motivation and a chance."

"No kidding."

"We used to be in homicide. I hated that beat, but Sam was obsessed with it. She never gave it a rest. Every day, she was out there searching. Sometimes with me, but most of the time alone. Come to think of it, she's still out there walking the streets at night, alone. Looking for her runaways now, I guess. Glad we're out of that shit."

"How did you get out? If you don't mind my asking?"

"Well, this officer Larry Dunn was hired, and he requested it. Sam put up a real stink at first. Then one day she just changed her mind for no reason. I accused him of threatening her, but they both denied it. Then she said the strangest thing. She said that he'd had special training for just this kind of thing. He'd do it better than her. I looked up his record. He never had any training. He probably lied to her and she bought it. I don't know."

"So are you happy with searching for runaways?"

"It's a lot easier on my wife."

"I'll bet."

Whitney stayed only a couple more minutes. He had a few errands to run before going back to the station.

Joe asked, "Why don't you come by some evening? Bring your wife and maybe your partner. Do the two women get along?"

"Mostly. Sam's probably friendlier to my wife than anyone else."

Then the door opened and MacLeod walked in. The detective stared at him.

"Who's that?" he asked Joe.

"Duncan MacLeod. Why?"

"We saw him once at a photography show, two or so years ago. He was with this blond woman. What a looker she was. Anyway, Sam took one look at them and had to leave. She said she couldn't take the chance that they'd see her."

"Did she say why?"

"Nope, only that it was a matter of life and death. Her face was real pale. I think she was scared. She took off, but I stayed. Greg Powers, that was the artists name. She really wanted to see his work. She used to be a photographer. She let that slip once. Tell me, is he a mass murderer or something?"

Joe flinched inside. "Not at all. He's a good friend of mine."

This seemed to appease him.

"Better go. MacLeod looks like he wants to talk to you."

"Maybe you better not mention to Henley that you saw him here. You wouldn't want to spook her again."

"Good point." Talk to you later. He left.

Joe was fairly bursting to tell Mac what he had just learned.

Mac sat expressionless as Joe told him everything.

"I'm positive that she knows that Larry is a Watcher and that is why she relinquished that responsibility to him."

"That is only one possibility. You're hearing and believing what you want. I still don't trust her."

"I'm going to do a bit of checking. Maybe she's had contact with other immortals, or maybe other Watchers."

"Good idea. Talk to you later. By the way, Methos is in town. He came in to tell me that Richie is involved with Kristen. He may stop in here."

"So Methos is in the States. Wonder what he really wants?"

"Catch you later Joe."

"Bye Mac."

Joe contemplated his next move. Methos was forgotten. He decided to follow her. Starting tonight. He called Larry and got her home address. If she walked the streets at night, he wanted to see her do it.

Joe left for her home after four. He found a comfortable place to hide. He carried his gun, just in case. Around six, she drove in the driveway. She took his breath away. Could she feel him out here?

About an hour later, she came out again. He couldn't believe the transformation. Gone was the professional cop image. She was dressed in ripped jeans, and a ratty coat. Her hair was stringy, hanging long down her back. He had never noticed how long it was. She was wearing tough boots and gloves with holes in the fingers. Was this so she could handle a gun, or just part of the image? She got into her car and drove away. He followed behind, making sure he didn't get too close.

She pulled into a parking garage in the city. There she got out of her car and went to another. This one was old and just as beat up as her clothes. This was exactly what Larry had described to him. She exited the garage and headed for the Zone. But then she did a detour and ended up back in the city. Why?

She pulled into a motel and turned off her engines. Then she went into the office and talked to the guy behind the desk. They chatted a minute and then she came out again. She started down the road on foot. He followed, keeping a respectable distance between, sure that she would never detect him. In all his years of trailing Mac, he had never been spotted. It gave him a false sense of security. She led him a merry chase all over. Periodically she would stop and go into a building, and then come out again.

She went into a corner store. She bought a coffee and stood outside drinking it. Then some punk came around the corner. Like a flash she had him against the wall.

"Where's Buddy Jones?" Joe heard her command.

"I don't know, man"

A knife came out and was pressed against his throat. "He was seen by the docks with a young girl. I want them both. Now are you going to tell me nicely, or do you want me to force it out of you?"

The boy mumbled something and she let him go. The blade disappeared as fast as it had come out. With a backward glance, he ran away. Samantha went back into the store. This time she came out with a few candy bars and a soda.

She glanced around and then walked back towards her car. Joe stayed on the other side of the street and followed behind her. She suddenly turned a corner and he had to scramble to cross the street and keep her in sight. As he passed the second building, he lost sight of her. Starting to feel a bit alarmed, he continued on his journey. The last place he saw her was at the chain-linked fence just ahead. Focusing on that place, he failed to consider the doorway just in front of it. As he passed it, she leaped out and pinned him against the wall. He could feel the sharp point of a knife through his coat onto his skin.

There was perfect silence and he heard his cane fall, making a loud crash and bouncing noise. Neither breathed and they stood there, crushed together against the side of the brick building. The knife stayed against his skin. Their eyes made contact and slowly she recognized him. Then he felt her slowly relax. With the same motion, her head bowed and rested against his chest and the knife dropped to her side. A huge breath came out of her as she sagged totally into him. It was a moment of magic, of acquiescence, as they stood unmoving for several more seconds or minutes.

As both of their heart rates slowed, she removed herself from leaning against him. He had chills as the warmth of her body evaporated. The knife had returned to wherever she had kept it.

"Damn you Dawson. You should never sneak up on me. You were just a hair from getting my knife embedded into your chest."

"I'm sorry."

She flew into a rage. "You're *sorry*? That's all? I react first, think later. That's how I stay alive on the streets. You are damned lucky that I didn't finish the job. Why were you following me?"

"Whitney mentioned that you comb the streets for runaways, but I think you're searching for other things." He decided not to tell her of Larry's venture the night before.

"What I do is none of your business. If you did your job a little better, mine would be a hell of a lot easier. Now go back to your cute little bar and leave me the hell alone. I've got a fourteen year old girl out here that doesn't know the difference between a shark and a savior."

She took off at a run. There was no way he could keep up with her. The night was darker now as he made his way back to the car. He had time to think. His legs were aching and with the loss of adrenaline, he was getting tired. Just as he reached his car, he thought he saw a movement off to his left. When he turned he saw Henley, Samantha, disappear inside the office. She had followed him back to his car. A warm feeling spread within him. He went into his car and headed back to his 'cute little bar'.

****

Chapter 5

As soon as Dawson left, she jumped into her own car and sped away. The kid said that Buddy was living in her old neighborhood. She raced there, knowing the way by heart. The broken down houses were just part of the scenery. Nothing had changed in the twenty years since she had lived there as a kid. She hated coming back here. The memories were enough to nauseate her.

She found number two sixty-three, but the three was hanging loose and the six was upside down. Figures. She went up the stairs and found that the building had been abandoned. There were no legal residents. Very quietly, she tiptoed around. She drew her gun, and continued looking around. Then she heard a faint noise. Crying. She listened carefully as she headed in that general direction. Up ahead was a mattress on the floor. A girl was laying on it sobbing to herself. Memories assailed Samantha. Shoving them aside, she quietly walked towards the girl. It could be a trap; she had to be careful. When no one jumped out at her, she squatted down and talked softly to the girl.

"Shhhh. I'm here to help you."

The girl turned startled eyes towards her. "You have to leave. He'll be back. He always comes back."

"Don't you worry about him. I want to take you out of here. I have a car downstairs."

The girl got up. Bruises covered her from head to toe. Empathy echoed in Samantha's eyes, but she didn't remark on it. The two girls headed back downstairs. Samantha kept her gun out, almost hoping that Buddy would come back so she'd have an excuse to shoot him. Without a doubt, she knew that this girl would never testify against him. All

Samantha could do was clean her up and get her back home to her parents. They had to be better than being on the streets.

They made it to her car without incident. Samantha drove to her own house. As they got out of the car, the girl could hardly believe it.

"What are you some rich do-gooder?"

"Nope. I'm a cop who has been in exactly the same situation that you're in now."

Her belligerence evaporated immediately. So did her spirit. Samantha cleaned her up and gave her a nightshirt and showed her to a spare bedroom. She waited up until the girl had fallen asleep, then she retired to bed also. Both doors were left ajar in case of nightmares in the night.

Now Samantha could relive the evening in her mind. She could still feel the imprint of his body against her. She couldn't believe that she had the audacity to stay that way for such a long time. What must he be thinking of her? She thought back to when she rested her head against his chest. It had felt so good, so safe. Had she ever felt safe? Even as a cop, she feared John's return. With all her knowledge of self-defense, he still had the power to reduce her to the scared child she was when she had met him. No amount of martial arts or shooting practice worked at alleviating that fear.

A scream shattered the night. Samantha jumped out of bed and ran into the guestroom. She was tangled in her sheets, sweat clung to her, as she tossed and turned. Samantha grabbed her and shook here awake.

"It's okay. You're safe. Nobody is going to hurt you now." She kept cooing into the girl's ears, hoping some of it would get through. Slowly it worked and the two clung together. The girl was sobbing and Samantha did her best to comfort her. It was dawn, and there was no way either of them would get any more sleep.

"Why don't I make us some breakfast. Are you hungry?"

"Yes," she answered shyly.

"I'll make French toast. Do you like that?"

She nodded.

"So what is your name?" Samantha knew, but she wanted the girl to tell her own story.

"Shelly."

"Well, Shelly. There are some things I need to know and that you need to know before we decide what to do next. First thing you need to know is that I'm a cop."

Samantha continued to break eggs into a bowl and talk at the same time.

"However, I'm not like other cops, I bend the rules a little. What I need to know is why you left home in the first place." She looked over at Shelly, but the girl had a blank look on her face.

"You see, I know that sometimes what is at home can be much worse that what you find on the streets, but not usually. Most of the time, it's just a communication problem and with help, the home problems can be fixed. Now can't you tell me what went wrong at home?"

"I can't talk about it."

"You can with me. I won't tell anyone. I need to know so I know what to do next. I am supposed to take you to the station, book you as a runaway, and then you get processed. Sooner or later you end up back with your parents. I can't help if I don't know what I'm up against."

Shelly didn't respond.

"Did they beat you? My father always beat me. He spent all his time either drinking, or hitting me. I understand a bad home life. In fact I ran away too. I was positive that he was going to kill me. I lived with that fear for years, before I left."

"No they don't beat me, exactly. But they are very strict."

"Is there a way that we can talk to them and get this all straightened out? The streets are no place for a young girl. It is worse than you can imagine. I got you away from Buddy, but there are many more out there waiting to hurt you. Do we need to think of an alternative to home?"

"No, I think I do want to go home. Buddy will find me if I stay here."

"How long were you with him?"

"I've lost track of time. A few weeks, I think. He was so nice at the beginning."

"They always are. It's how they bind you to them."

Samantha continued cooking and then served breakfast. She decided that a change of subject was called for. Samantha was warm and sympathetic. They talked about clothes and movies, and soon Shelly was laughing and smiling.

Samantha called the station and let them know that Shelly was with her, so they could notify her parents. One kid down, a million more to go.

****

Chapter 6

Joe didn't hear about this until two days later. It was the monthly Watcher poker game. Larry was there along with three other men and two women. They would play cards and discuss problems or just gripe about their assignments. Joe thought it was good therapy. It was also fun.

"Joe, I've got an interesting story about that Henley woman." Larry mentioned in passing.

Trying to be nonchalant, "Something happen?"

"Was it two nights ago, or three? I don't remember. Anyway, she picked up one of the lost kids. She bats about one a month, but this one was a corker. She pulled her out of an abandoned building, just hours after the girl had been raped by the boy she was living with. Henley took her home, cleaned her up and now the kid is on her way home with her parents. I tell you, with adults, she's a pain in the ass. But with young teens, she's got something that makes them all trust her. You ask anyone on the street, and they'll tell you the same."

"I did. I asked Richie."

"Did he give you any good stories?"

"A few." He didn't want to talk about Richie. "Her partner said that she gave up the serial killings one day out of the blue. Then she told him it was because you had special training."

"How the hell she figure that out?"

Joe pointed to his wrist, "Tattoo?"

Larry nodded, "Could be. So she knows about immortals and Watchers."

"Now we just have to figure out why and who told her."

Larry nodded in agreement.

When the poker game ended everyone left. It was about an hour later that Richie came in to talk to Joe.

"You still trying to put pieces together about Henley?" He looked a bit uncomfortable.

"Yea, you remember something?"

"You better sit down. I have this vague memory, but I can't be sure if it really happened. It's very fuzzy. It's been nagging me for a couple of days, and I couldn't get it out of my head. Anyway, before I met Mac, I lived on the streets and did some stealing."

"No surprise there."

Richie laughed. "This one day Henley was the one to pick me up. She handcuffed me and brought me into the station. She made me sit in a chair by her desk and she would talk to me. It was random thoughts that she had, and at the time made no sense to me. I thought that this was her punishment. Now I know she was trying to help. Anyway,

I must have sat there for two hours at least. She was mostly doing paper work, or something. I was getting pissed, and told her so. Then she'd look at me and I'd quiet right up. I remember being nervous, and wondering what she was going to do with me. It was my third offense that month and she was mad as hell."

"So what happened?" interrupted Joe.

"As I was sitting there, this woman walked in. She was beautiful, and classy and everything I'd imagined the perfect woman to be. She came in, and as soon as Henley saw her, she smiled very briefly, then swore up a storm. Boy, were her words colorful. The blond came over to Henley's desk. They talked in French and then the woman gave

Henley a card, then left. At the time, I couldn't believe that Henley could talk another language, I was impressed. I had forgotten all about it until you questioned me about Henley and Mac. The woman was Tessa. She was the one who came in to give her the card."

"You're kidding?" Joe was shocked.

"Nope. They were obviously close. When they talked, they kept it quiet. I don't think Henley liked the idea of Tessa being there. I can't believe I never thought of the connection before now."

"How do you think they knew each other?"

"I assume in France. As soon as Tessa came up to the desk they only talked in French. I'm sure no one could understand them."

"Do you remember what was on the card?"

"An art show of some kind maybe? I don't know. I wasn't interested in the card. Why do you need to know about this?"

"I think she knows about immortals and Watchers. She saved Mac's head the other night, and told me I ought to be doing my job better."

"You think Tessa told her?"

"I do now. I need to do some more research into Tessa's friends in France."

"Wonder if she knows that I'm immortal now too?"

"Richie, please don't tell her anything. Let me handle it."

"Sure thing Joe." Richie left the bar.

Joe stayed in his seat. Things were starting to make sense. If Tessa told Samantha Henley about immortals, and she was a cop, it wasn't a reach to surmise that Tessa also told her to keep an eye on Mac. In fact it made everything fit. Should he tell Mac?

He logged onto his computer and looked into his files on Tessa. Finding a couple of leads he connected to a main frame in Paris. He was able to access Tessa's records and thus how she came in contact with Samantha Henley. Suddenly someone caught him hacking and terminated his connection. But, he had found what he had been looking for.

Now what. He had to tell Mac. He called the dojo, but there was no answer. He left a message. What he still didn't understand was why she felt that she had to hide herself from Mac. Was she afraid of immortals?

****

Chapter 7

Samantha was sitting at her desk writing up some reports when she noticed a visitor coming towards her. She looked up and saw Richard Ryan. A premonition of doom assailed her.

"Hello Henley, you got a minute?"

"Why do I think that I don't want to hear what you have to say."

"Probably because I've never said anything worthwhile to you before. All I ever remember doing is whispering profanities behind your back."

"I heard them."

"I know. I also never said thank you for sending me in Mac's direction."

She stiffened. "I did no such thing."

"You did. One of the times I was sitting in this very seat, you had an article about Mac and Tessa's antique store sitting open for me to read. If I hadn't seen it, I never would have tried to rip them off and never would have become a part of their family. I owe it all to you. Thank you."

"I didn't do it on purpose."

"Maybe not. But that's what happened."

Samantha was shocked at what Ryan was saying. Did she really do that?

"So why are you here?"

"Did you know that I died the same time as Tessa?"

This time she couldn't control her reactions. "You're like MacLeod?"

"So you didn't know."

"I was out of the country when she died," her voice broke.

"Some punk killed us. He was high on drugs and wanted money."

"I am so sorry Ryan."

"Me too. Why didn't you ever tell me that you knew her? All the time we were living here, why didn't you come to visit me or her?"

"We met infrequently. It just wasn't safe. Listen Ryan, please forget all of this. Nothing is going to bring Tessa back, and bringing this out in the open is going to get me killed. Please promise not to tell MacLeod any of this."

"I promise, but Joe knows, so you better make him promise too."

She blanched. A pit formed in her gut.

"Has he been making inquires about me?"

"I think so."

She started to shake. John would be coming soon.

"Listen I need to get going. Thanks for the warning."

She grabbed her purse and flew out of the station. Richie was forgotten as she ran home. What should she do? How many days had it been since Dawson started in inquiries? She should have thought to ask Ryan.

****

Chapter 8

Joe was behind the bar when the stranger walked in. He had immaculately cut dark hair and wore an expensive suit. But all the money in the world couldn't hide the fact that the man was sleazy. He didn't have beady eyes. He wasn't flashing a gun, but the subtle signs were there, if you knew how to look for them.

The man came in and sat down. Alexa went over and took his order. He was respectful of her, which relieved Joe. While he was nursing a drink, another man joined him. This man dressed like a bum. He had the beady eyes and the oily mannerisms that went with the stereotypical hood. Joe went and took the order this time.

"Can I get you gents a drink?"

The oily one requested a bottle of Jack Daniel's. The other man asked for another beer. The two men drank and whispered for another hour. Then the bum left. The other man was the more dangerous of the two. He ordered another drink.

"Can I pay with a credit card?"

"Sure can."

The man handed Joe his card. Without looking at it, he ran it through the slot. The man kept looking at him, as if he were waiting for a response. Joe leaned over to circle and fill in the tab amount when the name registered, John Henley. He schooled his features to reveal nothing. The man signed it and left.

Joe sunk down into a chair. Was he a husband? A brother? For some reason that waiting look got to Joe. He expected Joe to recognize him in some way. The man looked evil. Why did he pick this particular bar to hold his meeting in? What kind of reaction was he looking for?

He picked up the phone to call Mac again. As he was listening to the answering machine, Mac and Richie walked in. By the look on Mac's face, he knew that Richie had told him everything. Everything he knew that is.

"Alright Joe, tell me the rest of it."

So he filled the two immortals in. After Richie informed Joe of his talk that morning with Henley, all three realized that she was in trouble. John Henley obviously figured out that it was Joe who had been hacking, and now came to investigate.

"You got her address?"

Joe nodded. "Let's go then."

The three men got into Mac's thunderbird and headed to her house. Joe took his cellular phone and called the station. After getting connected to Whitney, he informed him of what was going on.

"Hi. This is Joe Dawson. Have you ever heard of a John Henley?"

"He's not here, is he?"

"Yea, he just showed up at my bar. We're heading over to her place."

"I'm right behind you."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

They pulled into her driveway. Her car was in the driveway, but there wasn't a sign of anyone home. Visions of Lauren being murdered echoed within his mind. He would not let that happen again. He didn't understand these strong premonitions, but his gut was rarely wrong.

Mac followed him out of the car. He rang the doorbell. No answer. He pounded on the door. Still nothing.

"Let me kick it in."

Joe made way for Mac to use force to open it. Richie passed both of the older men, and entered the house first. Joe was right behind him, and Mac followed slowly behind.

John Henley sitting in a chair, with his fist wrapped in ice. His eyes were cold and accusing. He eyed Richie and Joe. They blocked his view of Mac who was still half way outside.

"I don't know who the hell you are, but somehow I know you're involved in all this."

"I'm Joe Dawson."

"I know your fucking name, but not how you know MacLeod. I told Sam if she so much as looked at HIM, I'd kill her. I gave her all the chances in the world. Did she obey me, NO!"

Richie was losing patience. "Where is she?"

He ignored the comment. "Why is it that no matter how much I discipline her, she goes behind my back, and disobeys me. I told her to stay away from Tessa, but no, she doesn't. I find her in a little cafe having a coffee. I had to teach her a lesson, one that she wouldn't forget. Then I find that photo album of Tessa's pictures. I had to burn it and break her camera. I told her she wasn't allowed to be a photographer any more. Now, I find out that she's..."

MacLeod stepped out from behind Joe. Joe could see the fury in the immortal's eyes.

"Where's the girl?"

John Henley stood up. His hand was forgotten, in his consuming anger. "YOU..." He stuttered, unable to form coherent words. The madness was echoed in his eyes.

"Joe, go look for this Samantha."

Joe could see that Mac had caught John Henley's eyes and was not letting go. There was murderous intent in both sets of eyes, and he knew that John Henley would try something.

He opened on door and found an empty room. He looked into the bathroom but it too, was empty. The last room was locked. With a large breath, he threw his shoulder into it. The lock gave way. Inside, on the floor, lay Samantha. She was bleeding and unconscious. There was a gash on her head and her arm was lying in a weird angle. Cold rage filled him. He felt for a pulse, and it was there, weak and fluttery. At least she was alive.

He walked out of the room to confronted John Henley. As he reached the doorway, he saw Henley shoot Mac and Whitney level his gun at Henley and shoot him in the head. Both men fell, but Joe knew that only one would stay dead. Richie stood by Whitney, and gazed at the scene in front of him. Joe went to Mac's side and saw that the bullet had pierced his heart and it had already stopped. He looked over to Richie.

"How is she?" Whitney asked.

"Call an ambulance. She's hurt pretty bad. We can't move her, I think her arm is broken and I can't tell what other internal injuries she has."

So he went to the phone and called 911. After he reported the two shootings and Samantha's beating, he went over to Joe and Mac.

"I'm sorry about your friend. I heard the shot just as I was coming in the door. There wasn't anything I could do."

Joe knew he had to prevent Whitney from knowing that Mac was dead. Somehow he had to make it look like the bullet hit him but didn't do any real damage.

"Richie, you stay with Mac, let me take Whitney in to see Samantha."

Richie did as he was asked, and Joe led the detective into the far room.

"Don't worry about MacLeod. He'll be okay."

"He was shot in the heart."

"He had a bullet proof vest on. The force of the shot just knocked him out."

The puzzled look was still visible, but he was more interested in his partner. Joe could feel the worry pouring off of him; it echoed his own.

The paramedics came in and took her away. She still hadn't regained consciousness, and Whitney asked to ride in the ambulance with her. Other police officers arrived and began their investigations.

Joe went over to Mac and whispered, "Told him you were wearing a bullet proof vest. You don't happen to have one on, do you?"

Mac gave him an ironic look. Guess not.

"Sorry Joe, I guess I wasn't a lot of help."

"You did fine Rich. This was between Mac and that guy. I still don't understand the animosity, but I hope Samantha will tell us when she recovers."

"I'm just glad the sucker's dead," he retorted.

"Sorry men, you're going to have to leave." One of the cops interrupted them.

They left Samantha's house and met at the bar. Joe poured them a drink. He felt so responsible. If he hadn't started investigating her, maybe John would never have tried to kill her. At least they found her in time.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

They went to the hospital, few days later. She sustained four broken ribs, a broken clavicle and arm, and a concussion. When Joe and MacLeod walked into her hospital room, her eyes widened and absolute fear filled them.

Joe went over to her. "He's dead. He can't hurt you anymore."

Her eyes were filled with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Your partner killed him. He shot Mac, thinking he was going to kill him and then Whitney shot him."

"I never told John that you were an immortal." She was looking at MacLeod.

"Good thing," Joe said.

Mac and Samantha had their eyes locked. Neither could look away. Tears filled her eyes.

"I couldn't save her that night. John had put me in the hospital the day before. If I had been there I could have saved her. I never would have let that kid get within twenty feet of her and Ryan. I went through two whole years thinking that John had killed her. Then Ryan identified the kid and by that time it was too late." She started to cry in earnest.

All her emotions rose to the surface. Joe sat in the chair next to her bed, wanting to pull her into his arms. But he couldn't. Even if the attraction was two sided, he was too inhibited. They had never even talked except for the few words when she had him against the building. He took her hand and tried to hold it. She yanked it out.

"Thank you for visiting me. Just give me some time to get over all of this." Her eyes still reflected the fear and anguish.

"But we'll be back." Joe promised.

****

Chapter 9

Samantha laid in the hospital bed trying to come to terms with John's death. He had been hanging around in her life for so long, that she felt empty without him. The main force of her life was to please him enough that he'd leave her alone. Now there was no one who cared what she did. She knew that she'd have to go to Paris and clean up after him. Why was it that her whole life was centered around cleaning up after people? For close to fifteen years, she had been in the shadows covering up all of MacLeod's murders. She was a glorified garbage man. It wasn't his fault, he never knew she existed. Somehow she had gone from cleaning up behind MacLeod, to cleaning up behind other immortals. But now he knew about her. She couldn't do her job, if she couldn't remain anonymous.

Slowly some of the officers from her department trickled in to see her. They had begun to understand why she acted the way she had, and were quick to inform her of their friendship. Whitney also came by several times and slowly extracted the whole terrifying story from her. She was so touched by the show of affection from her co-workers, people she had gone out of her way to be rude to. She didn't deserve it.

Duncan MacLeod came back three days after his first visit. She wasn't ready to see him. He came in the door tentatively.

"Can I come in?"

No! "Sure, pull up a chair."

"Nice flowers."

"Yes, the other cops have been very supportive."

"Can you tell me how all this started?"

"Do you mean John or Tessa?"

"Yes."

Determined to gloss over much of her childhood, she told him bits and pieces.

"I went to art school with Tessa. We had a lot of classes together and became good friends. Unfortunately John fell for her and became quite obsessive about it. When you came along, he was determined to kill you." She laughed at the absurdity of it all.

"Of course he didn't know anything about your, uh, how to kill you. Luckily his cronies knew something of your reputation and talked him out of it. But he then forbid me to see or talk to Tessa again. Every time we did meet secretly, he'd beat me up. I know he had me followed, it's the only way he could have found out each time.

"Eventually he realized that I would continue to see her, because she would plead with me and I couldn't tell her how John punished me. So he made me leave Paris. I found a life for myself here. My bones knit and I became stronger. I learned self-defense. But when he'd come to town, I'd revert to that scared little girl I used to be. Then one day, Tessa called me. She had moved to Seacouver. Of all the places why did she pick my city?"

Mac didn't give her an answer.

"I lived in fear of John finding out. But you lived for enough time in Paris, that I'm not sure he knew you were here. After Tessa died, you disappeared for a long while. I had hopes that you'd never come back. But you did."

"When did she tell you about my immortality?"

"Almost immediately after you told her. Then when you killed that man on Soldier's Bridge, she made me promise to take care of you. She didn't want the cops finding out that you were a murderer. I was to clean up the dead bodies and dispose of them."

"A thankless job."

"She loved you so much. I was just insurance."

"Tessa never knew of John's violent nature?"

"Nope. I learned to hide it well."

He was quiet for a moment. She could see the sympathy in his eyes.

"What are you going to do now?"

"I'll have to go to Paris and clean up after John. He doesn't have a sterling reputation. I need to take care of the apartment and his personal affects."

"And then?"

"I don't know."

"What about Joe? He cares a lot about you."

Her eyes widened in alarm. "No he doesn't. I'm just the crazy lady who's been doing his job. He'll forget about me."

MacLeod didn't look convinced.

"Samantha. I want you to know that you can come to me for anything. I will always be here to help you. I wish you'd stay around. There's not many people I can talk to about Tessa."

"Just Richie."

"You knew her before I did. I would love to hear about what it was like for the two of you in school. What she was like as a student and things like that." His needy eyes bored into her.

Before she left, she promised herself to send the remaining pictures that she had taken of Tessa. He would treasure them for all time.

He must have sensed that she didn't want to say anything else, so he said goodbye. He reiterated his request that she come to him if she ever needed anything, and then left. She felt drained. But it was good to get a lot of it off her chest. He really was a nice man, and she could see why Tessa had loved him so. They had been so perfect for one another.

****

Chapter 10

A week later, she was to be released from the hospital. Whitney had said that he would take her home, but much to her discomfort and mortification, Joe Dawson was there instead. He looked entirely comfortable and she couldn't think of a thing to say to him.

"I hope you don't mind, but I told your partner that I wanted to take you home."

"It's okay," she mumbled.

She gathered her bag and sat in the wheel chair. The nurse pushed her, and Joe walked along side. She couldn't look at him, although she could feel his eyes occasionally rest on her. He drove her home. He turned the radio on to a soft jazz station. She was so embarrassed. What was she supposed to talk about?

"Do you like this station?"

"It's fine."

Then there was silence again. She fidgeted with her purse and sent him nervous glances.

They got to her house and she tried to get rid of him.

"Thank you so much for the ride. You can go back..."

He interrupted. "Not so fast. I'm coming in."

"You can't."

"Why not?" He smiled one of those sweet endearing smiles that she felt down to her toes. Oh God!

He took her keys and unlocked the front door. He made a motion for her to precede him into the house. As she walked passed him, he put his hand in the small of her back. Her breath caught and she could still feel the imprint after he had removed it. He dropped her bag onto the floor and that's when she noticed the immaculate condition of her house.

"Mac and I came over to clean up the blood and straighten things out. John really trashed the place."

"Thank you. You didn't have to go to so much trouble."

"Would you please sit down and relax. I won't bite. I'm the same guy you pinned to the side of a building because I was following you. Don't you remember? You held a knife to my heart and it's never been the same since."

"I don't know what you want from me. I'm not good at things like this."

"Things like what?"

Her face flamed. "I don't know what to say, what to do."

"Neither do I. All I know is that there is a powerful attraction between us. I know you feel it."

He paused. Her face showed confusion and a little bit of hope.

"All I want is a chance to get to know you. I don't want you to be in the shadows any longer. You need to live your life. I want you to come into my bar and sit on a stool and talk to me. I want you to stay late and help me close up. I want you to listen as I compose new songs. I *need* you to let me into your life."

She felt light-headed. He was offering so much, and demanding everything in return.

He came over to where she was sitting and sat next to her. He gathered her hands within his, and placed them over his heart.

"Feel that? It's beating so fast. Just being near you does this to me. Do I do this to you?"

"Yes."

He leaned over and kissed her. It was light and whimsical. She quivered, and leaned into him. Her hands gripped his chest and he released them. He slid one hand into her hair and deepened the kiss. She couldn't breathe. She was sinking. She felt exposed. She pushed him away.

"Stop," she cried in pain.

He did so immediately.

She was panting, trying to recover her sanity, her sense of self. His warm eyes rested on her face and his hand was still in her hair. He slowly caressed the back of her head, sending goose bumps across her back.

"You see Samantha. Can't you feel the magic?"

She needed to separate herself from him, but he wouldn't let her go.

"I need a drink."

"You think you need to escape. But you can't. This feeling will never leave, no matter how far you run."

He tilted her face so she could look into his eyes.

"I'll go slow, as long as you won't deny what we have."

She nodded, and he separated himself from her. The aloneness hit her hard.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

He sat back, putting the distance she requested between them.

"We need to get to know one another. I know some of the nasty things that you've gone through, but I don't know anything about the woman you are. You're an artist, and I want to get to know that person."

Then he got up from the couch. "Show me around your house."

The intensity was gone, turned off like a light switch. Now he was open and friendly. How did he do that? She was still reeling. She stood up and started down the hall.

"This is my study. I've kept the notes of all the immortals that I've come across." She looked at Joe, "Dead that is."

He sat down and looked at her computer screen. She had a file with all the names, dates of death and if MacLeod had been involved in the killing. She had the file encrypted in her own person code so that the information could not be stolen.

"I have a closet full of swords. Generally the winner never thinks about the loser's sword. About six years ago, a little boy found one and killed his sister. They were playing and he didn't know what he was doing."

"Is that why you have a collection of them?"

"If I can get to them first, it's one less lethal weapon out there for kids to use to hurt one another with."

"I can take them away if you want."

"Yes, that would be nice." She said with relief.

Then she remembered the photo album. "Could you do me a favor?"

"You don't need to ask."

She went to a closet in the spare room and pulled a box out of the closet. She withdrew a broken camera, some lenses, and leather bags of stuff. She kept pulling out photographic paraphernalia and heaping to the side of her. Then, when she hit the bottom, she pulled out an album. She handed it to Joe.

"Could you give this to MacLeod?"

Joe opened it. Inside were dozens of pictures of Tessa. Some were bound in the pages, but others were loose. Samantha sat back as Joe studied every single picture. He smiled one of 'those' smiles that made her melt. He showed her the picture. It was of her and Tessa, smiling and looking carefree. They had their arms around each other and looked so happy.

"Can I keep this one?"

"Sure."

He closed the book. "Mac is going to treasure this."

"It was the only album I was able to keep a secret from John. He destroyed all the rest."

"You are a very talented photographer."

"Thank you." She didn't handle compliments very well. In fact she wasn't handling anything very well.

As if sensing her need for time to think, "I think maybe I ought to leave and let you get some rest."

She didn't want him to go. But she didn't know how to act if he stayed. She could feel her face betraying every last thought.

He gave her a gentle smile and carried out the book and put it in the front seat of his car. Then they made several trips to get all the swords and put them into his trunk. Just before he got into the driver's side, he bent over and kissed her hard.

"Dream of me." He said as he rested his forehead against hers.

"I always do." Then she blushed when she realized just what she had admitted.

He smiled, kissed her once more on the nose, and drove away.

She went back into the house. Silence. So much had changed since she was last here. She went into her bedroom to lie down on her bed. She put in one of his tapes and put the earphones in. With the volume on high she absorbed his music as she relived the kisses they had shared. He was right, they were magic. He was so perfect. But she was not. Scenes of John yelling at her flashed before her eyes. She was stupid, she was ugly, she was only half a woman, were just a few of the things he said to describe her. He needed to beat her to get her to...STOP! She yelled at herself.

She was tired, so she fell asleep, with Joe's soul echoing in her subconscious.

****

Chapter 11

Joe was behind the bar as usual when MacLeod walked in that night.

"So how did it go this afternoon?"

"She is so skittish. I don't think she's ever had a serious relationship before. She acted like she was in high school and I, I don't know. She's afraid of her own emotions, and mine too."

"Stands to reason if this John has been controlling her all her life."

"I have something for you from her."

Mac looked interested. Joe pulled out the album from a shelf behind the bar. He had already removed a few pictures for himself. She was just so damned beautiful when she wasn't afraid and cowering from life. He vowed to bring that joy back to her.

Mac opened the book and stared at the first picture. Joe smiled with pleasure as he observed his friends reverence.

"She said John destroyed most of her pictures, but these she managed to hide from him."

Several were taken of Tessa with Mac when they first started seeing each other. There were some of them on the tour boat where Mac had seen Tessa for the first time.

"I can't believe she was on the same boat. I never noticed her."

"You had eyes for only Tessa."

"Were you there?"

"On shore. I could hardly keep up with you running so fast."

They laughed.

"She said I could keep this?"

"She did."

"Tell her thank you." Then he got up and left.

Joe couldn't sleep that night. He tossed and turned, finally giving up at four. He retrieved his guitar and sat playing, working out his feelings. Was she too scarred to believe in him, in herself? That was the crux of the matter. Could she believe in herself? She had never learned about real human relationships. That was where he had to start. Was he really qualified to teach her self-confidence? He had enough hang-ups of his own to sink a battleship. The more he played, the more agitated he became. At six, he couldn't wait. He needed to see her. He needed to prove to himself that she hadn't run away.

He drove into the driveway. The lights were all off. He rang the bell. No answer. He knocked loudly on the door. Still nothing. Starting to feel panic, he broke in. Still nothing. The sun was peaking above the horizon, which gave him enough light to make his way through the house. He stopped at her bedroom. All of a sudden the house didn't feel empty. He slowly entered. She was sleeping with her covers all tangled around her legs. She was still in her slacks and shirt. He could hear faint music coming from her direction.

He drifted closer. A set of earphones was against her head, plugged into a small stereo sitting on a nightstand. He stilled as he recognized the music. She opened her eyes and stared at him. There was no fear, only acceptance.

"Are you real?"

"I think so."

His eyes softened as he looked at her. His lips twitched in a smile as she sat up and pulled off the head set. The music was louder now. It was definitely a recording of him playing the guitar. He looked at her, but when she continued in her silence he walked over to the bed and sat down on its edge.

"What's this?" he pointed to the earphones.

"The only part of you I could have. My one weakness."

"It's not a weakness to like my music. It's not a weakness to like me."

"But it's not safe. John..."

"John's dead and will never hurt you again. You can listen to my music anytime you want. In fact I bet in another year you'll be asking for earplugs to block it out."

He wanted to laugh at her shocked expression.

"I can't picture that happening."

"Well, I'll give you all the music you can handle, if you promise me never to run away, and to always tell me when you're bothered by something. That's what friends do, help each other out. And no doubt I'll be wailing on your shoulders more times than not too."

He bushed off some of her hair from her face.

There was no embarrassment reflected on her face.

His smile disappeared and was replaced by seriousness. "I came because I had this sudden feeling that you ran away. I shouldn't have left you this afternoon. I should have stayed to make sure..."

"No, you were right to leave. I had to work through my demons alone."

"I should have helped you."

"You can't help. I've lived my whole life in fear. I can't remember a time when I wasn't afraid of someone. Now it's gone, and I feel empty."

"But I'm here."

She smiled. "Yes, you are. That's why I'm still sane. If it hadn't been for you in the last two years, I would have been lost. You kept me connected to the world. You gave me hope, in your unfailing loyalty to MacLeod, which in my mind was indirectly connected to Tessa.

"I remember the first time I saw you. Tessa and MacLeod had just come back to the States. She was babbling about Watchers killing priests and that Mac would be next. She asked me to kill you or neutralize your group somehow. What a joke." She laughed disparaging to herself. "I took one look at you sitting in that stupid bookstore, and I was lost. I couldn't do it. I started following you around, getting closer and closer to MacLeod, and not caring. I needed to see what you were doing, but I had to be close too. Isn't that sick?"

"No, it's not sick. You were attracted to me and couldn't show it for fear of your life. Look at me. I followed you around too, because I needed to understand you. We both did the same thing."

She looked at him with such hope. He bent down and kissed her.

"I have to leave. Now that I know you're not going anywhere, I should leave."

"Why?"

"Because I don't have the self control that I...I need to leave *now*."

"Okay," she looked confused.

"I'll be back in four hours. Please be dressed and out of bed."

"I'll try." She called back finally catching his meaning.

He gave her a bone melting smile and continued down the hall and out the door.

****

The End


End file.
